


you can't choose what stays and what fades away

by allthisandheaven_too



Category: Carmilla (Web Series)
Genre: Angst, F/F, Hurt/Comfort, PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-14
Updated: 2016-10-14
Packaged: 2018-08-22 07:29:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8277731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allthisandheaven_too/pseuds/allthisandheaven_too
Summary: Set during an indeterminate time in season 1, post-episode 22.
Laura and Carmilla share a moment after the latter wakes the former. Laura shares a little too much.
Carmilla doesn't mind.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Title from "No Light, No Light" by Florence + The Machine.

 

Rain fell softly on the roof of the dorms. Fat drops streaked the windows, chasing each other down in a lazy game of tag. 

It was late. Dark. The sun would rise in an hour, so the vampiric inhabitant of the room was also asleep along with her human roommate. The room was quiet but for the rush of the rain and the steady breathing of the two girls in their respective beds.

The human blinked her eyes open and stared at the ceiling in the darkness. Something had awoken her, but she wasn't sure what.

"Carmilla?" She attempted to grab the attention of her surly roommate, but to no avail. The vampire was still asleep, as far as she could tell.

Then, she realized that a sound that should have been present in the room was absent: breathing.

Or rather, the breathing of the person that was not her.

She knew her roommate was a vampire and that she technically didn't need to breathe, but she also knew from some relentless (and admittedly obnoxious) questioning that said roommate did it anyway. 

Force of habit, she'd said. 

It took a lot to make her forget, she'd said.

"Carmilla?" she tried again. She rolled over and squinted in the general direction of where her roommate should have been. Her eyes had not yet adjusted to the black, so she saw nothing.

A faint muttering came from the opposite side of the room. 

Laura took this as another one of her roommate's grumpy confirmations of life, and rolled back over so her back was once again facing Carmilla's bed. She closed her eyes and willed sleep to take her again.

_"Nein."_

Laura's eyes blinked open anew. The word was so faint she thought she might have imagined it.

"What?" she murmured groggily.

_"Nein,"_ came the word again, a bit louder this time.

Laura definitely knew she'd heard something now. She sat straight up in bed, fully prepared to give Carmilla a piece of her mind.  "Um, sorry to interrupt your midnight ramblings, but I have an early class tomorrow and would like to get more than three hours of sleep for once," she snapped.

Carmilla fell silent.

As Laura's pupils dilated, shapes began to emerge from the dark. She was able to make out her roommate sitting up in her own bed as well. Her knees were bent in front of her and she hugged them to her chest. Laura was unable to tell if she was awake, but it seemed as though she was. It was an eerie sight. The only thing that could make it any creepier would be—

_"Bitte,"_ Carmilla rasped suddenly, and Laura nearly jumped out of her skin. It was like a scene from a horror movie. Part of her wanted to dive back beneath the blankets and never come out. But curiosity got the better of her, and she squinted further in Carmilla's direction.

Carmilla was still speaking. No, begging. _"Bitte! Nicht verletzen ihr!"_

Was that... German?

Laura suddenly wished she'd taken her father's advice about using Rosetta Stone before leaving for Silas.

"Carmilla, who are you talking to?" Laura asked slowly.

_"Lasst sie los!"_ Carmilla shrieked, and Laura promptly obeyed her earlier instincts and dove right back under the covers.

The rain grew steadier, muffled by the down comforter pulled over her head. Laura matched her breathing to it, the way her mother had taught her years ago. Slowly she began to calm down. Soon she was able to poke her head out of the nest of blankets and risk a glance at Carmilla.

It took a moment at first to discern, because of the ever-growing sound of the rain, but she thought she could hear light sniffling.

Crying.

Laura felt a strange twinge in her chest. It was foreign, alien. And it made her sit up and stand up and approach her roommate's bed.

Cautiously.

"Carmilla," she whispered.

A foot away, and now she could see that Carmilla's eyes were wide open. They must have been open the whole time.

As if this wasn't unnerving enough, rivers of tears flowed down her cheeks. 

Empathy. That was the name for it. And it was filling Laura's entire chest now, and threatening to migrate to the rest of her body.

If someone had told Laura Hollis a week, hell, even a day ago that she would soon be feeling sorry for her infuriating, useless vampire roommate, she would have laughed straight through that week or day. But now, here she was, sitting on the edge of Carmilla's bed and empathizing with her, of all things.

Carmilla, who stole her food. Carmilla, who left clumps of hair in the shower. Carmilla, who refused to use and had even mocked the chore wheel.

Carmilla, a trembling mess before her now, dark brown eyes glazed over with the purest fear.

And Laura's heart couldn't help but ache at the sight of it because she knew exactly how it felt. The grip of nightmares, of terror. So vivid and unrelenting.

"Post-Traumatic" didn't really fit. Every night you returned to it. Every night you lived it. There was no "post," no "after." Not until the nightmares slowed.

They would never completely stop.

Laura wondered if she should do something. If she was right about the cause, and she knew she was, then this had happened to Carmilla before. She knew how to deal with it. She probably didn't need Laura's help, nor want it.

Still.

Maybe it was a genuine desire to help Carmilla. (Doubtful.) Maybe it was just to see how Carmilla would react. (Plausible. And understandable.) Maybe it was her projecting her childhood desire for comfort and company in her own moments like these onto Carmilla. (Bingo.)

Laura had no idea. (Oh yes, she did.)

But she sat on Carmilla's bed just the same, planting herself in criss-cross-applesauce right in front of the girl. 

"Carmilla," she said softly. "Carmilla, wake up."

Carmilla stiffened, but there was no change in her eyes. She let out another string of panicked German. _"Nein. Nicht ihr, nicht ihr!"_

Laura recognized the first word. _No._

She reached out and gently unwrapped Carmilla's arms from around her knees, then slid her hands down to hold Carmilla's. 

"It's okay," she murmured. "You're not alone. I'm here."

She wasn't talking to Carmilla then. She was talking to a nine-year-old girl crying silently in her bed as visions of flames and smoke filled her mind, set to the soundtrack of screeching tires and a single scream forever on repeat.

So she almost missed it, then, when Carmilla blinked, and the glaze faded.

"L-Laura?" she rasped, sounding more confused than anything else.

Her voice brought Laura out of her memories. "Yeah. Yeah, Carmilla, it's me."

"W-what–" She glanced around frantically, eyes wide. 

"It's okay," Laura repeated. "It's okay."

She squeezed Carmilla's hands, and Carmilla's head snapped back forward to look at her. 

"I think you were having a nightmare," Laura said slowly.

Carmilla's lips parted just a bit, and Laura swallowed hard. 

She spoke, and her voice was small and shaky but still biting. "Why do you care?" she spat.

Laura faltered. "I- I don't know."  _Yes, you do._

Carmilla slipped her hands out of her grasp and wiped her eyes angrily. "Go to bed, Laura."

"Carmilla–"

Carmilla flopped down on her side, facing her back to Laura. "I don't need your pity."

Laura opened her mouth to reply, but closed it.

Carmilla remained silent. 

It was not lost on Laura that she hadn't started breathing again.

Laura blew an exasperated breath out of her mouth and returned to her bed. She slipped under the blankets and shoved her head down into her yellow pillow, willing unconsciousness to take her. The ungrateful vampire had sucked nearly thirty minutes from her precious sleep-time, and her morning class was growing ever-closer.

Minutes passed without the slightest bit of drowsiness. Finally acknowledging that she was not getting back to sleep any time soon, Laura rolled over on her back. "Carmilla? Are you awake?"

Silence.

"I know you are."

"Then why'd you ask, cupcake?" came the caustic response.

"Just." She closed her eyes. "I know what it's like. I get it."

Carmilla scoffed. "You're nineteen years old. You don't know a damn thing."

Laura took a deep breath, and let it out in a rush of words. "When I was nine, my mom and I got into a pretty bad car crash. Drunk driver came right into our lane. Head-on. I got out with just a bump on my head. My mom was trapped under the steering wheel. They tried to get her out but–" her voice caught, and she had to pause before she could continue. "The car was old. The fuel was leaking, apparently. Mix that with heat and... you know."

Carmilla was quiet for a minute. Laura's eyes were still closed, so she didn't see that Carmilla had rolled over to face her. All she could see was darkness. All she could hear was the rush of the raindrops, forever falling in their steady rhythm.

"I'm sorry," Carmilla said softly.

She meant it.

Laura knew she did.

She opened her eyes. Her heart was pounding. She didn't know why she had said so much. She barely even knew Carmilla. Barely even _liked_  her, for crying out loud.

Okay, maybe that wasn't entirely accurate anymore.

"I had awful nightmares for a long time," she said. "I still have them every now and then."

Carmilla watched her silently.

"Look, the point is, I do know what it's like to be scared out of your mind. To feel... to feel like you can't breathe." She turned her head to the side and locked eyes with Carmilla.

Neither of them spoke, but something in those dark, brown eyes told Laura that Carmilla understood.

Carmilla broke first. 

"Goodnight, Laura," she whispered softly. 

Laura smiled and closed her eyes again. "Goodnight, Carmilla."

Sleep came to the girls once more, and soon the only sounds were the rain against the windows and the rhythmic breaths of two distinct sets of lungs. 

One alive. 

One dead.

Inhale.

Exhale. 

**Author's Note:**

> I used google translate for most of the translations (eep!), so apologies if they aren't exactly accurate. If you're confused on any, just ask for clarification <3
> 
> Find me on tumblr: nothing-to-that-light


End file.
